


Hot Yoga

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Quentin is a flirt, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:30:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Eliot tries to teach Quentin yoga.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	Hot Yoga

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WonderfullyWonderingAlone59](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderfullyWonderingAlone59/gifts).



> This is for @WonderfullyWonderingAlone59, who wanted a yoga fic. Comments and kudos are magic and as always, enjoy!

Hot Yoga 

By Lexalicious70 (Quentin’s_Quill) 

“Are you ready, Q?” 

Eliot stood in the middle of the Physical Kids cottage common area, the furniture pushed back, the rug rolled up. Quentin lingered at the bottom of the stairs in a pair of grey sweatpants and a dark blue tee, his feet bare. 

“Maybe?” He hedged, and Eliot smiled as he unfurled two yoga mats on the floor, side by side. 

“You’re going to do better than you think,” he said, and Quentin approached the mats with cautious steps, like he expected them to turn into snakes. 

“I’m not very flexible,” he admitted to his lover, and Eliot reached out to take his hands. 

“Yoga is healthy and relaxing, and the idea is to work on becoming flexible. Besides, think of all the fun we can have when you get all limber!” 

Quentin took in Eliot’s outfit: dark spandex pants and a black tank top with red accents, his big feet bare. 

“So where did you learn yoga?” 

“Margo and I took classes in Manhattan last summer . . . it was mostly an excuse to look for hookup buddies, but it turned out I was good at it.” 

“Hookup buddies?” Quentin asked, and Eliot leveled a long finger at him. 

“Don’t judge, Q! Summers here are a bore. Now come on . . . sit, and we’ll stretch first,” 

Quentin sat and Eliot settled himself across from the taller man. 

“Okay, now, brace your feet against mine--good.” He clasped Quentin’s wrists and pulled him forward, and Quentin winced as he felt the stretch in his thigh muscles. “Now you pull me back.” 

Quentin obeyed, earning a smile that chased away the shadows in a way that not even magic could do. “Good! This helps the spine and the long muscles on the inner thighs . . . feel how they tense?” He asked, and Quentin felt heat rush to his cheeks. His partner’s voice and cadence made everything he talked about sensual, and it always made him feel shivery. 

They pulled this way and that, sometimes swaying to one side then the other until Eliot nodded and pulled his legs back. 

“Okay, I think we’re ready.” He moved to his yoga mat and motioned to the one beside it. “Follow my movements . . . it’s not that hard.” 

“He said to the guy who used to fall over playing soccer, basketball, baseball . . .” 

“Yoga isn’t a sport!” Eliot got down on all fours. “It’s . . . well, it’s aerobic I suppose but that doesn’t make it a sport. Now, watch me and try.” He leaned forward, tilting his chin up and forward, and Quentin copied him. Eliot glanced over. 

“Good! Now rise up as far as you can on your arms, like a pushup . . .” 

Quentin tried to copy Eliot’s movements but felt like a squat, ungainly toad in comparison. Eliot glanced over to watch. 

“Not bad . . . don’t overthink it. Now bring your legs in a bit and arch your back . . .” Eliot demonstrated and the resulting visual made Quentin lose his focus. He wobbled and tipped over, falling into Eliot and toppling them both to the floor. Eliot squirmed, his long legs entangled with Quentin’s. 

“I told you not to overthink it!” 

“I’m sorry!” 

“It’s fine Q . . . look . . .” Eliot managed to get up on all fours. “Move your mat so you’re facing me, maybe that will be easier for you to watch me.” 

Quentin obeyed, shifting the mat over. 

“I didn’t think I’d be very good at this.” 

“You’ve barely tried! Okay, let’s start again.” Eliot said. “One, two, three . . . now arch your back. Good! Tighten your core and hold it . . . one, two, three . . . see? It’s not so hard.” Eliot said, arching forward. Quentin copied his movements until they were moving forward at the same time, face to face, and Quentin flashed him a grin. The tips of Eliot’s ears went red. 

“Focus, Quentin!” 

“I am.” 

“On the  _ yoga _ !” 

Quentin’s smile widened each time they arched forward and then Quentin leaned in hard on the next arch to press his lips against Eliot’s. Eliot’s amber eyes widened and he gasped before losing his balance, reaching out with one hand to grasp the front of Quentin’s tee, yanking him to the floor as he fell. Quentin broke the kiss, chuffing laughter, as he landed half on top of Eliot and half on the mat, then yelped as Eliot smacked his ass. 

“That’s not focusing!” 

“Like it’s my fault your lips are irresistible!” He wriggled and Eliot scissored his long legs, trapping Quentin between them before giving his ass a few more firm smacks. 

“You, Quentin Coldwater, are incorrigible!” He released the smaller man only to tackle him down onto his mat and pin him there, leaning down to kiss him as he pressed a growing erection into Quentin’s groin, feeling an answering hardness there. “What am I going to do with you?” He asked, and Quentin smiled up at him, that goddamn curvy upper lip flooding Eliot with the desire to lick it until it was swollen and red. 

“Oh, I think you know,” Quentin replied, and Eliot cast on the cottage door until the lock clicked. Quentin squirmed, but it was all desire now, and Eliot hooked two fingers into the waistband of his sweats to pull them down. He wore light grey boxers underneath, the front tented and now growing damp. Eliot grinned and tugged off his own shirt before pulling Quentin’s off as well. He reached down to tease and tug on Quentin’s nipples until the younger magician’s cheeks flushed and he moaned. 

“El, please . . .” 

“Please, is it? So polite! I like that.” He squirmed out of his spandex, pushing one side down at a time, then ditching his boxers, until he could settle his erection between Quentin’s legs. Quentin went pliant as Eliot lifted his legs over his shoulders and let his hardon dribble on his skin until it was slick and Quentin’s legs tensed against his shoulders. Eliot locked eyes with his lover as he slid into his tight heat, feeling almost drunk with the scent of their joining. 

“God, Q . . .” He sighed as he filled the smaller man up until his tawny hair fanned out against the yoga mat and his dark eyes gleamed out from under half-closed lids. One hand strayed to his erection, where his fingers played across it as Eliot began to thrust his hips. His lips moved, but silently, and Eliot knew his lover was internalizing a string of dirty talk that he hoped one day Quentin would feel brave enough to say out loud. Eliot maintained the eye contact as Quentin stared up at him, creating a connection beyond the physical. He began to increase his strokes and Quentin made a small, needy sound, his hips twisting as Eliot filled him again and again. 

“That’s it Q . . .” He managed a smile despite the exertion. “Told you those stretches would make you more flexible!” 

Quentin gave a strangled chuckle.

“El!” 

“You’re so fucking pretty when you smile,” Eliot said, riding a wave of pleasure as it built in his lower belly. Quentin shivered and tensed as he rubbed a thumb over the head of his dripping erection, and Eliot knew he was close as well. “Good, baby . . . let go, let go, you’re safe with me--” Eliot gasped and shuddered as Quentin’s cock fountained over his own hand and he gave a small, tremulous cry, clenching around Eliot as he gave himself over to orgasm. The tight clenches made Eliot tremble and the tension broke, filling him with that glorious neural overload as he spilled into his lover. Quentin bit his lower lip to stifle another cry as he jerked beneath Eliot, then relaxed, his expression blissed out. Eliot smiled and leaned in slightly to kiss him as he pulled out. Quentin returned the kiss, his hand still wrapped around his spent cock. 

“I don’t think I learned much yoga,” he murmured as Eliot materialized a wet cloth in one hand and cleaned them both up before slipping on his boxers. Quentin did the same before they retired to the cottage couch, Quentin curling up between Eliot’s legs, his head on his chest. 

“That’s all right,” Eliot said as he dropped a kiss on the top of Quentin’s head. 

“Was it like your summer hookups?” Quentin asked, his tone curious but somehow shy, and Eliot chuckled. 

“Q . . . hot yoga in Manhattan has nothing on you.” 


End file.
